The Woman in the Woods (Saul Silva x OC)

Chapter 1: Lost and Found

There was not gonna be a trial.

It took Saul forever to understand this, the better part of the week at least. The remoteness of his jail, which should have only been a holding cell in the first place, coupled with the fact that he wasn't allowed to ring anyone, not even a defender, should have clued him in. In those four days, what he knew was that he was being isolated, so it made sense that they wouldn't want to give him even one phone call. His arrest had been significantly questionable in the first place. There was that the queen herself made the arrest, one with a dubious charge given that she knew everything that occurred that fateful day, then the shock of finding out that his friend, Sky's father, was alive after all these years. He knew the trial was gonna be a sham and that he was essentially convicted already; he just didn't think they wouldn't go through the motions of it, that he would actually be deprived of any semblance of fairness. It took him four days to realize this and it came after being given his latest meal, with him asking when he would get his defender and being told "soon" once again, the guard smirking as he left. The falseness of that one word echoed in his brain. Suddenly, it was clear: there would be no trial. And this, this cell, this was it. He wasn't going to be transferred out to some normal prison like a common criminal. He was being tucked away where no one will find him nor hear whatever he had to say.

He studied his cell. It was square, walled solid on three sides, barred on one. There was a sink opposite the bed, next to it a toilet. Lovely. Then there was his bed. Had this been a normal prison cell, there would have been a table and a chair, and maybe some books. He'd also maybe have a cellmate, or other prisoners in other cells. But there was no one and there was nothing, as though they intended to kill him with boredom. To be fair, if he was to spend an eternity inside this, no one to talk to, no book to read, nothing to occupy him other than his thoughts day in, day out, no scenery, just the dank walls and the slit above that could barely be called a window, maybe boredom wasn't such a benign way to die. But he was getting ahead of himself. He needed to think, organize his thoughts. What did he want to do? How will he do it? And why the fuck wouldn't they just give him even a goddamn magazine to read!

He took a deep breath.

His dinner remained on the floor, near the bars of his cell, set there by that smirking guard who wouldn't just tell him that he'd never get a defender, or a trial, or feel sunlight again. He glanced at the cooling plate of some godawful sandwich that probably had sand rubbed in it especially for him, and wished they could have provided a fork or, better yet, a knife. But of course, no one was that stupid.

He realized then that he was thinking of escaping because what he wanted—answer to question #1—was to get out of this fucking cell. So, to answer question #2, he'd need something sharp to defend himself with. But he had to temper the thought. He didn't know where he was; he was knocked unconscious on his way here and, when he came to, they covered his head with sack so he wouldn't see anything—he really should have had an idea that he was being locked away from everyone then.

He combed his fingers through his hair. "What have you got yourself into now, Saul?" he asked himself. Then he looked down again at his dinner. Was that a ceramic plate they put it on? Maybe some people were that stupid after all.

///

That was a terrible idea. Well, if he had to be honest, it was a good idea up until the point that he got himself stabbed pretty brutally in the very center of his abdomen. He underestimated the number of guards he had to face as well as the number of hallways out of this fucking castle. That's right, castle! He should have known that it was an actual dungeon he was being held in. But, for one, there was a toilet in his cell. And a bed! Dungeons only had wheat for bed and a bucket in the corner, plus a chain screwed to the floor, because dungeons belonged in the middle ages. Also, his cell did not smell like shit. It smelled old and moldy, but not shitty.